


Three

by PlanetClare



Series: The Triangle Trilogy [3]
Category: Black Widow (Comics), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Winter Soldier (Comics), winterwidow - Fandom
Genre: Anxiety, Assassins & Hitmen, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Cats, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Has Nightmares, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Conflict, Cybernetics, Drama, F/M, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Humor, Love, Love Triangles, Man Out of Time, Minor Original Character(s), Mission Fic, Natasha Romanov Has Issues, Romantic Friendship, Separation Anxiety, Spies & Secret Agents, Trust Issues, Unrequited Love, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 23:59:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6399427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlanetClare/pseuds/PlanetClare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a delicate mission for Nick Fury, Bucky Barnes’ love triangle is put to the test.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three

On a Tuesday afternoon, Bucky sat at the cluttered work table in his tiny, dark apartment. With a small screwdriver, he made adjustments to his cybernetic arm, which was not uncommon for him to do between missions for Nick Fury. Although Nick had his technicians occasionally perform upgrades to the arm, Bucky had become adept at minor fixes.

Silently, his therapy cat, Sébastien, approached him. He had been taking a nap on the sofa on the other side of the room divider that separated the assassin’s sitting area from his work table and twin bed.

Leaping from the floor onto the bed, the black feline then sprang onto the assassin’s table landing to his right side.

“You’re getting big and strong, pal! You can get up here by yourself now,” he said with a proud grin.

Sébastien meowed as if in agreement and snuggled next to him watching his human friend work.

Both Bucky and his girlfriend Natasha Romanov, the Black Widow, noticed that although the assassin still had nightmares, the number of them decreased after she reluctantly allowed him to keep the cat.

Inquisitively, he continued to talk never minding that Sébastien could not answer.

“How was your nap? Is that all you do when I’m not around? I hope you’ve been practicing those boxing moves that I showed you.”

Sébastien stared at him with a blasé expression.

The most lethal man on the planet laid down his screwdriver and tenderly stroked the fur on his beloved cat’s back.

“It’s kind of nice just having a ‘guys’ day,’ isn’t it – just you and me?” asked the soldier as he took a break from tinkering with his arm.

Normally, they spent most of their time at Natasha’s apartment overlooking the East River. However, when the assassin was suffering from a swarm of nightmares or bouts of Posttraumatic Stress Disorder, he thought it was best to stay at his place for a couple of days so as not to overwhelm her.

Suddenly, Bucky’s cell phone rang as it lay next to his tool box on the table. It was Nicky Fury calling, and he only called if he had an assignment for the assassin.

“Looks like our ‘guys’ day’ is on hold, pal,” he informed his cat as he reached for the phone.

“Yeah?” he answered.

“Got a job for you, Kid. I’ll text you the address of the briefing. Be there at 1500 hours,” the always gruff commander instructed him and then ended the call.

Bucky noted that although he and Nick had known each other for decades, he could not recall a time when the super spy ever asked how he was doing or even passed the time of day. Nick was always direct and got straight to the point, and given the types of life-and-death decisions the former director of S.H.I.E.L.D. made on a daily basis, Bucky could understand his lack of friendliness and courtesy. He realized that he was often that way himself.

The assassin looked at his clock and sighed.

‘One hour,’ he thought.

The address that Nick gave him was nearby, which gave him more than enough time to prepare. He put down the cell phone and closed the flaps of his open appendage. They rhythmically snapped shut, and the arm rebooted as he and Sébastien watched.

The assassin walked to the small TV which rested on a table next to the sofa. Turning it on, he then inserted a DVD into a disc player. When the image appeared of colorful fish swimming back and forth in a tank, Sébastien ran over and sat in front of the TV.

“This should keep you company until I get back, but don’t eat any of them,” he jokingly scolded the cat whose attention was glued to the fish.

Bucky turned and walked to the tiny kitchen to leave food out for the cat in case he did not return that evening. Then, he showered, dressed, and concealed on his body a few Gerber hunting knives and two Russian 1911A1 .45 automatics pistols with silencers.

He knew that if Nick had work for him, there would be weapons at his disposal. However, he always preferred to use mostly his own ammunition.

Wearing a black jacket, a black t-shirt and blue jeans, Bucky put on his Wayfarer sunglasses, picked up his motorcycle helmet, and opened the front door of his apartment.

“Be a good boy! I’ll be back soon,” he said though he had no assurance of that.

Looking momentarily from the TV to Bucky, Sébastien meowed as if saying ‘good-bye.’

The assassin smiled and closed the door behind him.

*  *  *  *  *  *

After a short drive on his motorcycle, Bucky found himself in an alley behind a laundry. Both he and Nick knew that ever since the intelligence community learned that Bucky Barnes was not only alive but none other than the deadliest assassin the Soviets ever produced, he could not be seen working with S.H.I.E.L.D. in spite of his reversal and separation from Hydra. Therefore, he trusted that he would be meeting Nick at one of his numerous secret facilities whose location would be discreet and safe for him to enter without his being captured and held as a traitor.

Hiding his motorcycle and helmet behind a huge dumpster, Bucky entered a doorway at the rear of the laundry. Once inside, he saw workers pressing and neatly folding clothes.

Ignoring him, the staff continued with their work.

To his right, the assassin saw an unmarked door. Feeling it was safe to open it, he stepped into a small stairwell which led to a basement below.

At the bottom of the stairs, to his right were three more doors. Through the first two, he could hear agents discussing locations of possible threats to national security and other issues which might be of international interest.

Through the third door at the end, Bucky could hear no sound at all. His experience taught him that the room was probably a sound proof meeting room – the one in which Nick was likely waiting for him.

When he approached the door, he looked at a camera which was mounted above it on the left, but he did not remove his sunglasses as he was not ready to expose his entire face just yet.

He heard a quiet buzz as the door unlocked. Pushing it open, Bucky was not shocked to see Nick Fury standing at the opposite end of a long table. However, he nearly flinched when he saw who else was there.

Facing each other on opposite sides of the conference table were Natasha (codename: Black Widow) to his right and Dr. Bobbi Morse (codename: Mockingbird) on his left.

“Nice of you to join us, Kid,” Nick said sarcastically.

“I’m ten minutes early,” the soldier informed him as he removed his sunglasses and sat at the near end of the table.

Ignoring this piece of information, the commander said, “Let’s get started. Each of you Assets is familiar with the other two, and you each have a skill set which is of use to this mission. I’ll run it for you,” he said as he turned on a large screen monitor behind him and flipped through digital files.

As Nick searched the files, Bucky, Natasha and Bobbi eyed each other in silence.

The assassin’s Poker face served him well as he looked blankly at each woman in turn. He wondered if it were a joke that he was seated at the same table with his girlfriend the spy and his scientist friend with whom he had just a few days prior had a one night stand.

Natasha glanced at him occasionally acting as if he were an operative she did not know but spent most of the time with her attention fixed on the lovely blonde scientist across from her. She could not put her finger on it, but there was something about Bobbi that she did not like.

Meanwhile, Bobbi met the Widow’s stare now and then but completely ignored Bucky though her heart was breaking with desire for him. She tried to put out of her mind the afternoon that she and the assassin spent in his best friend Steve Rogers’ bed. She promised Bucky that she would never tell anyone about that day, and she was determined to keep her word.

“Here it is,” Nick said upon finally finding the file and opening it on the flat screen.

The three Assets looked past the tall, bald commander and on the monitor saw a photo of a heavyset man who appeared to be in his early fifties. His greying hair was cropped short and he snarled as he posed for the photo.

Addressing the threesome, Nick said, “This gentleman is Mr. Martin Locke. He’s an underground arms dealer who occasionally traffics in more than just guns. A reliable source says that he’s in town to sell some sort of chemical weapon, a sample of which he wears in a small, clear vial hanging from the chain around his neck.”

“What kind of chemical is it?” asked Bobbi.

“We have no idea, Dr. Morse, but we _need_ that sample. We also don’t know where the seller is keeping the rest of it. Locke is said to never remove that vial, so we’re going to have to get creative here, people,” he replied.

Addressing the spy, he said, “Natasha, I want you to sugar up to Locke. Intercept him at the Langley Hotel. He’s in the penthouse suite. Find out who his seller is and where the chemical is kept. Get the vial and hand it off to Dr. Morse.”

Turning his attention to Bobbi, he said, “Dr. Morse, take the vial directly to Tony Stark. He’ll analyze it and advise me on its makeup and level of threat.”

“How do I figure into all of this?” asked Bucky at the far end of the table.

“You’re there to assist Natasha with rendering Locke vulnerable and to provide the muscle if things go south,” Fury informed him.

Natasha bristled at this last set of instructions.

“Nick, you know I prefer to work alone. I can handle this whole mission by myself!” she protested leaning forward in her seat.

Surprised by the spy’s outburst, Bobbi raised her eyebrows and mouthed the response, ‘Wow!’

“I’m not asking you, Romanov! _I’m_ running this show, so you either follow the plan, or I’ll see if Black Widow Yelena Belova wants to come out of retirement and do it instead,” the commander barked. 

Bucky’s expression never changed. He casually watched the exchange as if none of it interested him in the least.

The commander and the spy stared at each other for a long moment.

Natasha realized that the notion of enlisting the services of her friend and former spy-turned-super model, Yelena Belova, was an idle threat. Still, there was a slim chance the commander might pull her off the mission.

Without blinking, Natasha suddenly sat back in her chair signaling that she conceded.

“Now that _that’s_ out of the way...” the commander said sarcastically.

Bucky slid down in his seat and spread his legs wider. He was becoming bored and worried that he might be nothing more than a baby sitter on this mission. Just as he was about to yawn, the commander turned his attention to him.

“Kid, is your relationship with Widow going to be a problem?” the gruff older spy asked.

Keeping his expression blank, the assassin assured him, “It never has been before. The mission always comes first.”

Looking at the fiery red head again, Nick asked, “‘Tasha?”

After a moment of glaring at him angrily, the spy snapped, “No!”

“Good! Before you leave here, the agents will provide you with covers and any equipment you’ll need for the mission. You each know your role. Winter Soldier is the lead in the field,” he advised.

“Wait...WHAT?! I led the West Coast Avengers, but you’re giving _Barnes_ the lead?” Natasha protested.

The commander glared at the spy with his patience wearing thin.

“I’m giving him the lead because of his military experience. After this mission, Widow, you and I are going to have a _serious_ talk,” he informed her and then left the room.

The three Assets stood to exit behind him. Before Natasha reached the door, Bucky tried to speak to her.

“Nat –”

“I’ll see you in the field, Barnes, and don’t come busting in trying to save me like you always do. Stay out of my way!” she sneered and left the room.

Staying behind with Bucky, a dumbfounded Bobbi asked, “What’s her problem?”

“Like she said, she prefers to work alone,” the assassin replied staring at the closing door.

“There’s got to be more to it than that,” she wondered.

“She’s just upset about not leading the team. I usually work alone, too. It has nothing to do with her abilities or her being a woman.”

“Well, if you’re sure...Look, I’m all about the team, and I don’t like to do ‘sloppy.’ If she’s going to be a problem, maybe Fury should switch her out now before this even gets started,” the tall blonde suggested.

Looking at his friend, Bucky replied, “It’s too late now, and she wouldn’t stand down anyway. Let’s just get this over with as quickly as possible.”

*  *  *  *  *  *

Upon arriving at the Langley Hotel, each of the Assets had a cover and was prepared for the mission.

The Winter Soldier and Mockingbird arrived separately and each entered the rear of the hotel through the service entrance. He was dressed as a waiter and she as a maid. Each met with a hotel lead who was secretly also working for Nick Fury as inside agents. The cover story was that the Langley was short-staffed that night and had called in temporary help – the soldier and the scientist.

Meanwhile, the Black Widow pulled up to the front of the hotel in a white 2014 Jaguar.

A young, blonde valet with a pimply face raced over to open her door for her.

As the spy stepped out of the vehicle, from behind dark sunglasses she said, “If there’s so much as a scratch when I get back, you’ll regret it.”

“Yes, Miss...I mean, NO, Miss!” he agreed as he timidly climbed behind the wheel and slowly drove the car toward the parking garage.

Thirty minutes later, one of Fury’s agents who matched the woman’s description would appear to collect the car, but she would not be Black Widow.

Striding past the hotel’s front desk, the Widow headed straight for the bar where a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent had earlier informed her that her target Martin Locke would be holding court just as he had the previous two nights.

The huge man sat at a table near the back and laughed gregariously with a few colleagues as a waitress occasionally took drinks to them.

The spy approached the bar and before sitting on a stool, she removed her beige trench coat revealing a black halter dress with a plunging neckline. She heard the conversation at Locke’s table abruptly stop.

“What can I get you?” a bartender asked.

“Vodka, please,” she replied and then flipped strands of her long blonde wig over her right shoulder.

When the bartender stepped away to prepare her drink, she pulled a compact from her clutch purse. Pretending to powder her nose, she used the mirror to peer over her left shoulder at Locke and counted not the men he was seated with but the number of bodyguards who stood nearby. None were as massive as Locke was, so she was sure that she could take them down if that became necessary.

When the bartender returned with the drink, he said, “Here you are, Miss,” and placed it on the bar in front of her.

Hoping to catch Locke’s attention, she flipped her hair once again and then stole another peek at him from her pocket mirror.

When she was sure that she had caught his attention, she returned the mirror to her purse and took a small sip of her drink.

Not more than a minute later, a tall, broad-chested man in a suit appeared next to Black Widow at the bar.

“Mr. Locke requests the pleasure of your company,” the young man said looking handsome in his black suit.

“Who?” she asked, feigning ignorance.

“Follow me,” he instructed as he turned and began to walk back to his boss.

Picking up her drink, coat and purse, she followed closely behind him.

When they reached the table, Locke’s henchman waited until his boss broke off his conversation with his guests. When the huge man looked at him, he nodded his head and then stepped away.

“I am Martin Locke. I would like you to join me, Miss –?” he asked waiting for her to speak.

“Nadine Roman,” she said using one of her numerous aliases.

“Well, Miss Roman, you’re a lovely girl. We won’t bore you with the discussion of business, so gentlemen, will you excuse us?” he said looking at the other men at the table.

Bidding the arms dealer good-night, they each rose from the table and excused themselves.

“Please,” Locke said motioning to the chair next to his. “Won’t you sit down?”

The Widow sat and placed her drink on the table in front of her.

“What brings you here alone, my dear?”

“Oh, sometimes a girl just needs to go out on her own and see what the evening brings,” she said smiling seductively at him.

“I see. Well, perhaps you would like to ‘see what the evening brings’ in a more private setting,” he said looking down the plunging neckline of her dress.

“That sounds like a wonderful idea, Mr. Locke,” she grinned.

“Please, call me Martin,” he insisted. “I’m staying in the penthouse. Let’s retire there,” he said standing to leave. He held her chair as she rose from the table and led the way out of the hotel bar.

When they reached the elevator, he put his hand on her ass to guide her into the empty car first and left it there as he held his room key to the scanner and then pushed the button for the penthouse.

She was even more determined to get the vial off of him and finish the mission as soon as possible.

When the elevator door opened, his hand guided her into a private hallway where a bodyguard stood on either side of the double doors. Using his room key again, he opened the doors which let into an expansive sitting room.

Inside the suite, two more bodyguards waited. One sat at the wet bar at the far end of the sitting room while another sat in a chair next to the sofa which faced a huge flat screen TV. As soon as Locke entered the room, the two men snapped to attention and stood.

“Gentlemen, Miss Roman and I would like to get to know each other a little better. Will you excuse us?” Locke suggested.

“Of course, Mr. Locke,” they said in unison as they started walking toward the door.

“May I get you another drink?” he asked her.

“Vodka, please,” she said.

As he began to pour it into a glass, she wondered how long it would take her to get him into bed.

*  *  *  *  *  *

Meanwhile, the Winter Soldier and Mockingbird were being separately assisted by Fury’s agents on the inside.

The assassin was assigned a serving cart which on its underside had two straps for guns. He discreetly pulled two Russian .45 pistols with silencers from his waiter’s jacket and slid them into the straps. He then touched the sheath strapped between his shoulders to ensure that his Gerber knife was easily accessible. If he were stopped for a body pat down, that’s the one place no one ever checked. 

His lead informed him that the rest of the wait staff was instructed that he was assigned to Locke’s room that night in case anything was ordered. In the meantime, the assassin would assist the kitchen staff by placing other orders on serving carts.

Taking the nametag that he was handed, he pinned it on his uniform. Tonight, the soldier would be called ‘Bill.’

Down the hall, dressed in a short black wig and a maid’s uniform, Mockingbird was simultaneously getting final assistance from her lead.

Fury’s undercover agent in housekeeping quietly instructed the scientist.

“Stay here and fold laundry until I get the call from Black Widow. There’s a containment jar in your cart. Place the vial in it, return the cart to me, and then go directly to the plumber’s van waiting outside the service entrance. It’s a S.H.I.E.L.D. extraction vehicle. No matter what happens with the other Assets, you _must_ get that vial to Tony Stark.”

“Understood,” the scientist whispered now worried about the mission’s outcome.

The agent handed Mockingbird a nametag. It read “Sally.”

*  *  *  *  *  *

The Black Widow straddled the naked arms dealer who lay on his back on the king size bed. As he fondled her bare breasts, she tried to get information out of him.

“You say you’re a businessman. What brings you to New York?”

“As I said, I’m here to conduct some business, my dear.”

Even after a few drinks and small talk, Locke was still being too tight-lipped.

‘I must be losing my touch,’ she thought. She decided to call in reinforcements.

After kissing him passionately, she made a suggestion.

“I think this evening calls for something special. I’ll ring Room Service and have them bring up champagne,” she informed him.

“Excellent idea!” he replied as he began to rub her bare thighs.

Without dismounting him, she leaned over and picked up the handset on the phone. Pushing the button for Room Service, she placed the order.

“Please deliver a bottle of your best champagne, strawberries, and a bowl of melted dark chocolate to the penthouse as soon as possible,” she requested.

She knew that the Winter Soldier would be on his way soon with the order, so she returned to trying to get Locke to spill at least some of the details of the sale of the chemical. All the while, she kept stealing glances at the vial which hung from a chain around his thick neck noting that the fake she was given almost exactly matched it.

Ten minutes later, a waiter with his hair in a bun and a nametag reading ‘Bill’ pushed his serving cart to the penthouse door. Locke’s bodyguards waited until he reached them before they moved.

“Hold it right there,” one guard ordered as he approached the waiter.

The assassin stopped and stood still while another guard walked up to him.

“Hold out your arms and spread your legs,” the man said.

‘Bill’ did as he was told, and the guard began to pat him down to ensure the waiter was not armed. Just as the assassin predicted, the guard did not check his back any higher than his waist, so he missed the Gerber knife strapped between the soldier’s shoulder blades.

“He’s clean,” the guard said to the others, so they opened the door of the suite and allowed him to go in.

When ‘Bill’ wheeled the cart into the sitting room, he announced, “Room Service!”

“Coming!” the Widow called over her shoulder from the bedroom. Returning her attention to Locke, she said, “You stay here. I’ll be right back!”

Climbing off of the arms dealer, she put on his large shirt which fit her like a mini dress. Buttoning only the third button, she left the bedroom and entered the sitting room where she found the Winter Soldier waiting with the cart.

He looked at her with a blank expression as if he’d never seen her before. None of the guards would have guessed that they actually knew each other intimately.

Moving to the side of the cart which faced the door, the assassin popped the cork and began to pour the champagne into a pair of glasses. When he finished, he returned the bottle to the ice bucket.

“Allow me to open the leaves,” he said dropping to one knee and lifting the cart’s tablecloth on one side.

The Widow watched him quietly remove his Russian .45 pistols from the straps under the cart and slide them into the waistband of his pants just under his black apron. She waited until he raised the cart’s leaf and then spoke.

“Actually, I think we’ll take it into the other room, so you can leave the leaf down,” she instructed.

“As you wish, Miss,” he replied. He lowered the leaf and returned to the other side of the cart so that his back was once again to the guard waiting at the door. 

The Widow saw that the guard standing just inside the doorway was watching them closely. She positioned herself so that he could not see her lift the stone of the ring on her left middle finger and empty a white powder into the champagne glass on the left.

“Will that be all, Miss?” the assassin asked.

“Yes, I’ll take it from here. You can charge it to the room,” she replied as she began to wheel the cart into the bedroom.

As the assassin turned to leave, he stole a glance into the next room at the large man lying naked on the bed. In his head, he had already mapped the layout of the suite and memorized it in case he needed to return.

In the elevator, he used the comm line to speak to his teammate.

“Widow, get on with it and wrap this up.”

“Got it!” she quietly snapped annoyed that he was pressuring her.

“What’s that, my dear?” asked Locke as she wheeled the cart over to the bed.

“Oh nothing, Martin! I just said that I’ve got the order,” she replied with a seductive smile.

As she handed him the doped glass of champagne, he said, “Let’s make a toast...to new friends!”

“To new friends,” she cheerfully agreed as they clinked their glasses together.

*  *  *  *  *  *

After drinking most of the glass of champagne, Locke was only semiconscious and told the Black Widow everything she wanted to know between occasional blackouts.

During one of his blackouts, she switched the vial around his neck for the fake one which Fury’s agents provided her with.

When he awoke, the Widow suggested, “Let’s have another glass!” and began pouring more champagne.

As he sat in the bed, Locke began to see double.

The Widow put his glass in his hand and said, “Cheers!” clinking his glass so hard that it splashed alcohol all over the arms dealer and his bedding.

“Oh, Martin! I’m so sorry! Let me call Housekeeing to clean this all up,” she offered.

“Housekeeping...” was all he could say.

Fury, the Winter Soldier and Mockingbird were all listening on the comm line, so the scientist knew she was about to be sent to the room moments before she was told by her lead.

Upon arriving at the penthouse with her cart, ‘Sally’ was asked to extend her arms to be pat down just like ‘Bill’ was. The guard did not check between her legs as he did with the assassin. Instead, he simply ran his hands down the front and back of her legs before allowing her into the suite.

Pushing her cart into the sitting room, Mockingbird saw the naked Black Widow in the other room putting on the shirt of their target. She stood for a moment and then announced herself.

“Housekeeping,” she called.

“I’ll be right with you,” Widow replied from the next room.

Turning to the semiconscious Locke, she said, “I need you to stand and put this on,” she said handing him his bath robe.

Helping him up, she assisted the arms dealer in putting on the robe and then seated him in a chair next to the bed.

She then walked to the doorway of the bedroom and called to the maid.

“Come on in. Sorry about the mess. We need the bedding changed,” she instructed the scientist and then perched herself on Locke’s lap as he lost consciousness again.

The Black Widow took a small amount of pleasure in watching the scientist change the sheets. Then, she realized things would go much faster if she helped, so she stepped over to assist her teammate.

When they quickly finished changing the sheets, the Widow handed Mockingbird the vial which she had hidden in her clutch purse.

“Take this and go to the extraction vehicle. Don’t wait for me or the soldier,” she whispered.

Mockingbird nodded and took the vial from her. She opened the small silver container and slipped the vial into the grey foam inside it. After closing its lid, she covered the container with two folded face cloths. She then put the two champagne glasses into the trash can on her cart and placed the bedding on top before making her way to the suite’s door.

When she returned to Housekeeping, Mockingbird did as she was instructed. She returned the cart to her undercover lead, slipped the container into the pocket of her uniform, and briskly walked to the service entrance.

Once outside, she saw the plumber’s van and approached the driver’s door.

When the man behind the wheel rolled down his window, he said, “It often rains in the valley.”

Mockingbird replied, “That’s why I always carry an umbrella.”

She heard the side door slide open to let her in.

Once she was inside, the driver used the comm line to speak to Nicky Fury.

“Foxtrot, we have the package,” he said.

“Good,” Mockingbird heard the commander say. “Give ‘Elvis’ and ‘Priscilla’ 5 minutes. Then, head home without them.”

“Roger that, Foxtrot!” the driver said.

Mockingbird became nervous. She did not like the idea of leaving the Winter Soldier and Black Widow behind, so she began to wonder if she should return to the hotel to help them. After taking a few deep breaths, she decided it was best to follow Fury’s orders and stay put in the van.

*  *  *  *  *  *

When the Winter Soldier left the penthouse, he did not return to the kitchen. Instead, he pushed his cart into the elevator but only went down to the floor below. There, he steered his serving cart onto the landing of the stairwell and walked up the flight of stairs so that he was on the other side of the door which let onto the penthouse’s hallway. He drew his two Russian .45 pistols from under his apron and listened closely for any signs of trouble.

Inside the suite, the Black Widow was hastily getting dressed. Locke was once again unconscious, and she was trying to make her getaway before he awoke.

As she picked up her purse and coat, she spoke into her comm line.

“‘Priscilla’ is moving out,” she said as she strode toward the door. Upon opening it, she was startled to find one of Locke’s bodyguards blocking her exit.

“Leaving so soon, little one?” the tall man asked as he gazed down at her. He glanced through the open bedroom door and saw his boss unconscious and leaning over the armrest of the chair.

When she saw the look of shock on the man’s face, the Widow knew that she would have to fight if she was going to make it out alive.

‘Okay...four of them. I can do this,’ she quickly tried to convince herself.

The man grabbed her by the throat with one hand and lifted her until her feet dangled inches above the floor. She let out a stifled grunt as the guard slammed her against the sitting room wall.

Realizing something was amiss, two of the other guards ran inside.

“Boss?” one of the men yelled upon seeing Locke’s unconscious body.

As soon as the Winter Soldier heard this, he threw open the stairwell door and stepped into hallway. He shot the lone bodyguard standing outside the suite giving him no chance to draw his gun.

Upon seeing the man fall to the floor, the other two bodyguards quickly ran to return fire while the other man still had Black Widow by the throat.

The Winter Soldier dodged their bullets and managed to squeeze off a shot that nicked the Widow’s captor in the shoulder causing him to drop her to the floor. He then raised his arms to defend himself as she kicked and punched at him.

Standing out in the open with nothing for protection, the assassin needed to make quick work of immobilizing his two opponents. He somersaulted and tumbled until he was well-positioned to shoot one man between the eyes when he peeked through the suite’s doorway.

The other man fired a shot that ricocheted off the assassin’s cloaked left arm. Confused by the sound of metal on metal, he paused for a moment to ponder what he just heard. The pause was a fatal mistake as the soldier shot him once in his chest making him stagger backwards and fall onto a glass coffee table.

This distracted the last of the guards only momentarily, but it was just long enough for the Widow to knock him out with a kick to his jaw.

As the spy picked up her shoes and purse, the assassin grabbed her trench coat. Taking her by the arm, he led her to the stairwell.

“I thought I told you not to bust in and try to save me! I had things under control,” she scolded.

“You're welcome,” he replied as he wedged the serving cart between the stairwell door and the railing. He preceded her down the stairs and on the next landing, they heard a crash above them as the newly awakened bodyguard tried to push the cart out of the way. Unable to move it, he positioned a gun in the thin crack of the doorway and tried to shoot the fleeing Assets as they made their escape.

The assassin knew that the guard would then try to take the elevator to the next floor below to head them off before they reached the ground floor. Thinking fast, he hatched a plan.

“Stay here!” he told the spy as she stood on the landing inside the next stairwell.

She watched as the Winter Soldier threw open the door and darted to the elevator. Pressing the button, he hailed the car before it raced past their floor heading to the penthouse. When the elevator door opened, he leaned inside and pressed the emergency button which shut it down and set off the alarm. When he ducked back into the stairwell, he and the Widow resumed their flight.

Exiting through the service entrance, the two Assets saw the plumber’s van which was about to leave the hotel. As they briskly approached, the man behind the steering wheel rolled down his window.

“It often rains in the valley,” he said evenly.

“Just open the damn door!” the Winter Soldier barked in no mood for spy passwords.

The man sighed and rolled his eyes annoyed that the assassin was not following protocol.

The side door slid open, and the Winter Soldier took Black Widow’s hand as she climbed inside. As an agent shut the door behind them, the assassin sat down next to Mockingbird where there was more room.

“You good, ‘Bird?’” he asked her.

“Yeah,” she replied relieved to see him. “I took a peek inside the container and I think I have an idea of what’s in the vial. The sooner I hand it off to Stark, the better I’ll feel.”

Turning to the driver, the assassin advised, “Go straight to Avengers Tower so she can give that vial to Stark. Then, take us for debriefing.”

“Roger that,” the driver said as he guided the van out of the parking lot and into traffic.

*  *  *  *  *  *

As the van sped away from the hotel, Bucky removed the band which held his hair in a bun. His dark brown locks fell into his face obscuring most of it and one of his piercing blue eyes.

Bobbi fought the temptation to run her fingers through his mane as she recalled how softly it fell onto her face the day he took her to Steve’s apartment and lay atop her. She bit her bottom lip as she looked at his strong right hand which rested so close to her.

Reaching up, she pulled the black wig from her head and let her long blonde tresses cascade over her shoulders. She then reached behind her back, untied her apron’s strings, and yanked it from her waist.

As Bobbi glanced casually at Natasha, the spy narrowed her eyes at the scientist.

‘There’s something about her I don’t trust,’ the spy thought to herself.

While most women would be intimidated by sitting across from their ex-spouse’s former girlfriend, it did not overtly faze Bobbi. The former Mrs. Barton understood what her ex-husband Clint (codename: Hawkeye) saw in the Widow – it was what all men saw in her. However, the scientist took a decidedly clinical approach to working with the femme fatale. She simply focused on the mission and drew emotional strength from knowing that the spy was clueless about her tryst with the assassin.

*  *  *  *  *  *

Several blocks away, the plumber’s van pulled up to the entrance of the underground garage at Avengers Tower.

After a few moments of performing facial recognition scans on the driver and his front-seat passenger, the artificial intelligence at the access box unlocked the gate and allowed the van to enter.

By the time the vehicle reached the elevator at the far end of the parking garage, Tony Stark was stepping through the doors.

“Great. Now the neighbors will think my toilet’s backed up,” the millionaire genius deadpanned.

“Sorry about that, Mr. Stark,” the agent in the front passenger seat replied as he stepped out of the idling van and opened the sliding side door.

Before Stark sat only two of the three Assets: Black Widow and Mockingbird.

Stepping out of the van, Bobbi handed the insulated, silver container to him and whispered her preliminary analysis.

“Thank you, Dr. Morse,” he replied. “I always appreciate your input and perspective on things. I’ll be in touch if I need any further insight.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Stark,” she said returning to the vehicle.

“Hey there, ‘Tasha,” he said looking at the Black Widow.

“Anthony...” she simply replied with a crooked smile as she removed her blonde wig.

Something was not right to Tony. Although he knew the two Assets were fully capable of carrying out the mission on their own, he suspected that there might be someone else involved.

Stepping closer to the van, he casually glanced around its interior but there was no one else in sight.

“Well, thank you again, ladies, for your hard work. I’ll start analyzing this and let you get to your debriefing now,” he said as he raised the container and gave them a slight nod.

“Good-bye, Mr. Stark,” the agent said as he slid the side door closed and returned to his passenger’s seat.

Tony stood and watched the van until it disappeared around the curve in the garage’s tunnel. He then returned to the elevator still somewhat convinced that someone else had been involved with the mission.

When the van exited the gate and returned to the street, Natasha pulled a piece of black tarp from the floor revealing a barely visible compartment door. She knocked twice on the door and lifted it by a tiny recess just large enough for her index finger to fit into. As the door opened, Bucky crawled out of his hiding place.

“You know, I really don’t think Tony cares,” Natasha advised.

“That’s not the point,” the assassin replied. “I can’t be seen working with S.H.I.E.L.D. It would compromise the agency’s status with the government if the Feds knew I was involved.”

“This really isn’t a S.H.I.E.L.D. mission, James. We’re working for Fury on this one,” she countered.

“It doesn’t matter. I won’t compromise you or anyone else,” he insisted.

Appreciating his loyalty and concern, she decided he was probably right.

As the two sat next to each other on their way back to the laundry for debriefing, the spy clasped her hands tightly around the assassin’s strong right hand and rested her head on his right shoulder.

“You can buy me dinner tonight. I don’t feel like cooking,” she advised.

He smiled and laughed softly.

*  *  *  *  *  *

The plumber’s van lurched to a stop in the alley behind the laundry where the three Assets received their mission’s briefing a few hours earlier.

When the side door slid open, Bucky stepped out first. Picking up the Black Widow by her waist, he gently placed her on the ground. As she walked toward the laundry’s back door, the assassin took Bobbi’s left hand and held it as she stepped from the vehicle onto the ground.

He squeezed her hand tightly, which made her turn quickly to look at him.

He winked at her with the slightest hint of a smile on his face careful not to let Natasha see him. He wanted her to know that they were still friends and teammates, although there could never again be anything more between them.

She appreciated the gesture in spite of her sadness.

When the three reached the hallway of the secret operations below, they were met by one of Nick Fury’s agents.

“Greetings, and thank you for your work today. If you will follow me, I’ll take you to your debriefing rooms,” the tall brunette said as she turned and began to walk.

“Winter Soldier, this is your room,” she said pointing to an open door as she ogled the rugged assassin.

Natasha’s eyes narrowed and she frowned as she glared at the agent.

“Mockingbird, you’ll be in that room,” she said directing the scientist to the room across the hall from Bucky’s.

Looking at Natasha, the agent pointed to a room down the hall.

“Black Widow, you’ll be debriefed by Commander Fury himself, who will meet you in that room shortly,” the agent said with a certain amount of pleasure.

Suddenly, the look of steely glare disappeared from the spy’s face and was replaced by surprise. Before the mission, Fury had promised that he would have a conversion with her, but she did not expect it would happen so soon.

She knew it was time to face the music, so she drew a deep breath and held her head high.

“Nat?” she heard Bucky say.

She turned to him, and he kissed her softly on the lips.

“Good luck, babe,” he said knowing that she would need it.

As Natasha turned to her room, Bucky glanced at Bobbi over his shoulder and said, “See you around, Doc.”

“You, too,” she replied not looking back at him as she closed the door behind her hoping that one day soon they would be paired on another mission together.

*  *  *  *  *  *

When Bucky opened the door of his tiny apartment, his therapy cat Sébastien raced to greet him.

“Hey, boy! Did you miss me?” the most lethal man on the planet asked his beloved feline.

Picking him up, Bucky kissed the cat on his nose and then cradled him as if he were a baby.

Looking over at the TV, he noticed that the screen saver was on.

“Oh, the fish tank ran out on you, huh? Well, that’s okay. I’m gonna take your mom out to dinner tonight, so you can hang out at her place and watch the fish there,” he advised picking up the remote control with his right hand and ejecting the DVD.  He placed it in its slip cover and put it inside his motorcycle helmet so he would not forget it.

After taking a quick shower and dressing, Bucky placed Sébastien in his pet carrier, slipped the fish tank DVD into his zipped leather jacket, put on his helmet, stepped out his front door and locked it.

As always, the assassin killed the engine of his motorcycle as soon as he reached the alley behind Natasha’s apartment building and let it coast quietly to a stop. He guided it in front of her Shelby Mustang, removed the pet carrier, and placed over the bike a dark piece of tarp which the spy always left for him.

Standing next to the Mustang, he reminded himself that it was time to change its oil. He would do it tomorrow provided she did not have plans to drive it anywhere.

Bucky silently ascended the back stairs and let himself in to Natasha’s apartment. Once inside, he squatted, placed Sébastien’s pet carrier on the living room rug, and opened its door. The rambunctious cat darted out of it. Stopping a few feet away, he stretched and then ran back to Bucky.

The assassin sat on the rug and played with his cat for almost an hour. Just as he was becoming worried, Bucky heard Natasha’s key in the lock.

As she opened the door, he turned to look over his shoulder at her and saw the sullen expression on her face. He could tell that Nick Fury must have given her quite a grilling because she did not meet the assassin’s gaze.

Bucky removed Sébastien from his lap and placed him on the rug. He stood and walked over to Natasha who threw her arms around his waist and buried her face in his chest.

“It’s okay, babe. Let’s get some food in you and you’ll feel better,” he advised.

“Why does he have to be so _mean?”_ she sneered on the verge of tears.

“Nick’s like old army boots – built tough and doomed to stay that way. Don’t worry about. Come on. Let’s go.”

“I want to shower and change,” she said turning toward the bedroom.

“Nope. I’m hungry, and the sooner you eat, the better you’ll feel.”

He placed the fish tank disc into the DVD player for Sébastien, who immediately climbed his cat tree next to the TV and quickly made himself comfortable on the middle perch. He meowed contentedly as he watched the colorful fish swim back and forth.

Picking up his helmet and motorcycle keys, Bucky took Natasha by the hand and led her into the hallway. Locking the door behind them, he took her down to his motorcycle where they climbed on and drove into the city.

Several blocks away, the assassin pulled into the alley behind an Italian restaurant. He and the spy climbed off the bike and entered through the rear door.

She recognized the logo which was painted over the kitchen door. It was Luigi’s – Bucky and Steve’s favorite Italian restaurant.

An elderly waiter saw them and as he approached, Bucky pointed at an empty booth at the back.

Nodding his approval, the waiter picked up two menus and handed them to the assassin as he and the spy slid into the booth and sat next to each other.

Instead of perusing the food items as she normally would, Natasha sat quietly staring at the gingham table cloth.

“It’s such a shame for a lovely lady to look so sad,” the waiter said shaking his head from side to side.

“Don’t worry, pal. I plan on changing that,” Bucky advised as he squeezed Natasha’s left hand.

Without looking at the menu, the assassin ordered salad for two and a plate of spaghetti with meatballs and sauce on the side.

When the waiter returned with breadsticks, Bucky picked up one and placed it in Natasha’s right hand. Taking another one, he pretended to duel with her, but she was not in the mood and did not play along.

“Come on, Nat. Smile for me,” he begged.

When she limply raised one corner of her mouth, he realized that her debriefing must have been much worse than he originally thought it was.

Soon, the waiter returned with their order and placed the plates on the table.

Bucky spooned salad into a small bowl for Natasha and then used a fork to pile spaghetti onto her plate. Atop the noodles, he carefully placed two small meatballs side-by-side and then drizzled sauce into the shape of a mouth.

He waited for her to look at it and when she finally did, he got the reaction he desired.

She tried not to laugh but could not help herself as the spaghetti smiled up at her. Staring into his piercing blue eyes, she was touched by the look of concern on the sweet, boyish face of the deadliest man alive. She kissed him softly while the waiter smiled as watched from the kitchen’s doorway.

Bucky was aware that sometimes Natasha was difficult to work with because she was stubborn, bossy, and headstrong. He realized that it was Nick Fury’s job to rein her in under such circumstances. The assassin knew that it hurt her deeply to be reprimanded, which is why he made it his job to always make her smile again.

**Author's Note:**

> I recall a story in the comics when Natasha scolded Bucky for trying to help her on a mission. Their interaction in this story reflects such an instance.
> 
> © 2016 Planet Press
> 
> The Marvel characters herein are the property of Marvel Comics which retains the rights. The character of Sébastien the Cat was created by this author.


End file.
